She's Everything
by CalPal052699
Summary: Everything he sees, hears and says makes him think of her by now, after two years of being with her. She's truly become his everything. A series of short one-shots taking place in the two years Castle and Beckett are together, leading up to their wedding, all based on lyrics of the song 'She's Everything' by Brad Paisley.
1. yellow running shoes and holey jeans

_**She's Everything.**_

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_"She's a yellow pair of running shoes, a holey pair of jeans." -She's Everything, Brad Paisley_

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(May 22nd 2012)

His eyes fluttered open to the aroma of coffee drifting through the room, sunlight seeping through the blinds that cover the window. He blinked against the light, the room around him coming into focus, a smile coming across his face as his surroundings came into focus. The bed below him was soft, but not as soft as his at home was. There was a mirror hanging on the wall to his left, a window on the one to his right. He knew that books lined and artwork she'd picked up over the years lined the wall at his head, her dresser, covered in knick knacks, was against the wall at his feet. With a slight turn of his head, the chair where she liked to sit down and read came into view. He could help but smile wider at the thoughts his surroundings triggered in his mind.

Every time he woke up next to her, or in her bedroom, it became more real, but caught him off guard all the same. It fell on him, made his heart flutter with undeniable love for his new girlfriend. Really, even after two weeks of sharing her bed, her space, her home and his, it still hadn't sunk in that they were together, that after four long years, they were finally here, ready to face the world together. It still sent him into a moment of awe, a single moment in which he marveled in how far they'd come since the beginning of their partnership.

He smiled again, relaxing down into the pillows. The cool air that drifted through her apartment ran over his bare chest, rustled the thin material of the sheet covering him from the waist down. He could hear her just down the hallway, her footsteps as she walked around what he assumed was the kitchen. He could picture her, depending on how long she'd been up.

If she woke up just before him, she's be wearing the shirt she practically ripped off him and threw aside the night before, that she found this morning and slipped on, buttoning up only two of the buttons to somewhat hide her body from prying eyes despite the apartment's otherwise emptiness. Her hair would still be a tousled mess, drifting over her shoulders in messy waves that would remind him of the way he ran his fingers through it as her lips trailed down his jaw the night before, as he lulled her to sleep after she collapsed against him and curled up in his arms. She would be calm, the her mind still slightly hazy from the night's sleep behind her, her entire persona radiating a sense of calmness that people never felt from her otherwise.

That day, though, as his hand trailed over her side of the bed and found it cold to the touch, he decided it was most likely the second way. She's already be dressed—lately, rather than her work clothes, she'd been opting for more comfortable clothes—and sipping the last drops of her first morning coffee. Her hair would already be brushed, possibly tied up in a messy bun or a ponytail, depending on her plans for that day. She'd be standing straight and proud, already wide awake and ready for the day. Even she had plans that required leaving, though, she'd waiting for him to wake up so she could give him a kiss good morning and explain where she'd been going, something she started doing after he confessed how much it scared him to wake up in her apartment alone and not know where she was or what she was doing.

With a soft sigh of contentment, he threw the sheet off his waist and crawled off the bed, his bare feet coming into contact with the soft carpet that covers the floor. He quickly found his boxers, sitting below a stool she had sitting against the wall that had been to his left. He slipped them on, stumbling and tripping over the material and his own two feet in the way that made her laugh at his clumsiness, pressing his palm to the wall to steady himself, chuckling softly at his own antics before leaving the bedroom.

She was leaning against the counter, smiling at him the moment he turned the corner from the hallway into the kitchen. As predicted, her hair was done up in a high ponytail, pulled away from her face, revealing her high cheekbones, shining green eyes and the line of her neck that he loved to pepper kisses down. Her lips were curved upwards in a smile that made his heart melt—after seeing her through so much pain, he'd never tire of seeing her happy. Her hands were curled around the warm porcelain of her mug, fingers splaying across the NYPD logo that marks it.

She was wearing a red tank top, the kind she wore when she was doing yoga or going out for a run. The leather strap of her father's watch was wrapped around her wrist, black and contrasting against her skin. He smiled, his eyes continuing to travel down the length of her body, memories of the way she felt beneath his hands. Her long legs were covered in denim, the light blue jeans tight from her hips to her ankles. There was a hole on her upper left thigh, and another on her right knee, strands of off-white thread holding the two sides of each opening together. Her feet were covered in bright, neon yellow running shoes that he remembered being delighted to find in her closet because they were so unlike what he was used to seeing her wear as footwear.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," she greeted, bringing his gaze back to her face with the simple words and the happy laugh that escaped her lips. She brought her mug up to them and took a long, slow sip of the liquid that evidently still filled the cup, her smile obvious in her eyes even as her mouth was hidden from his sight.

"Good morning, beautiful," he replied, his hand reaching out to slip around her waist just as she set her mug on the counter to her right. His eyes flitted down to her lips, still curved upwards, before he pulled her against him, pressing his lips to hers without any reservation, in a way he thought, only weeks ago, that he'd never get to do.

As she often did, she melted into the his, her own hands coming up to loosely wrap around his neck as his left joined his right on the small of her waist, the thin material of her tank top riding up beneath his palms. Her lips, as always, were soft and warm and she tasted like coffee as his tongue ran over the seam of them, silently asking for entrance to her mouth, which she happily granted with a low moan from deep in her chest. Her fingers ran through his hair as his hand traveled up to cup her jaw, trailing down her neck and across her pronounced collarbone, over her shoulder and up her arm to link their fingers before pulling away from her.

She smiled once more, resting her forehead against his, breathing shallowly, taking in the same air as his as they quietly caught their breath, still standing in her kitchen. Her green eyes had darkened slightly, zoned in on his lips again before she pressed another, quicker kiss to his mouth, their hands linked and hanging between them as she pulled away slightly.

"You know I hate pet names," she whispered, putting just enough space between them to keep them from jumping each other in her kitchen, going at it on her counter like they already had a few times.

"Yeah, so why do you call me 'babe'?" he counters, squeezing her fingers as he pulled her towards him slightly. She came willingly, giggling as he brought her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckles one by one. He loved seeing her like this more than anything, calm and easygoing after the storm, giggling and happy and, dare he think, in love. Her hand ran over his chest as she pulled her hand away from his mouth, fingers digging into his bare skin as she eyed him almost hungrily.

"Because 'babe' just...works," she defends herself, looking up at him through dark lashes, her black mascara and the look in her green eyes making him momentarily forget that he just woke up and she was wearing jeans and a tank top and he was wearing just his boxers and they were standing in her kitchen.

"So does 'beautiful'," he argues, running his free hand down her side, up her back and tugging at the end up her ponytail just hard enough to make her head jerk back slightly and a chuckle escape her throat, as the thick tension was broke by their joking and laughing and everything that made them uniquely them.

She turns back to her coffee, one hand still in his just for the sake of touching, shaking her head at his comment as if she truly has no idea how beautiful he finds her despite his frequent explanations and confessions. He squeezes her hand and walks up behind her, reaching past her for the black mug that has become his since the beginning of their relationship. Perfectly in sync, she helped him make his coffee using their two free hands, reminding him momentarily of the day they spent handcuffed together, finding a rhythm they never really lost.

"Any plans for today?" he asked her, breath tickling the back of her neck as she poured a spoonful of sugar into the dark liquid that swirled in the mug.

"I was gonna go out to the park, hence the outfit. Wanna join me?" she responded, setting the spoon down as he brought the mug up to his lips, taking a sip of the brew. She turned against the counter, pressing her back to it, facing him as he drank, before reaching up the moment he pulled the mug away from his lips to take a sip of the coffee herself. He'd already grown used to it, her stealing half his coffee even though it's not her favorite and she already had one cup for herself.

"Hmm… Are you going for a run?" he asked in response, taking the mug and another sip from it as she held it up to him. His eyes traveled down pointedly as he reached past her to set the cup on the counter once again, landing of the bright yellow running shoes that stood out against the white tile of her kitchen floor. He smiled to himself, letting his eyes once again travel up the length of her, slow and deliberate, before locking their gazes together once again.

"Nope." She popped the P. "Can't run in skinny jeans, Castle," she explained further, grinning as his gaze once again traveled to her legs, admiring the way the denim shaped to her skin, the skin visible through the holes in the material. He swallowed thickly, looking back up to keep himself from getting distracted from the sight of the creamy flesh that he pressed his lips to just the night before.

"So, you're going to the park, but not to run? What are we gonna do there, then?" he asked, his free hand once again coming up, trailing over her shoulder before reaching behind her to twirl the tip of her ponytail.

"Well, we could do cheesy couple-y things, like walk around holding hands and talking about how beautiful everything is and having a picnic and all that stuff," she laughed, running her hand up his arm to link the fingers of their free hands, pulling his fingers away from her hair so he stops tugging on it.

"Cheesy couple-y things?" he asked. "So, I get to show off my beautiful girlfriend to a bunch of strangers and hold your hand and kiss you even though other people can see us?"

"Mhmm… As long as nobody we knows sees up and you have to wear sunglasses so nobody recognizes us and leaks us to the press or anything, okay?" she answered, squeezing his hands, pulling her lower lip between her teeth as if anxious to hear his answer.

He simply leaned down to kiss her quickly before practically running to her room to get clothes from the overnight bag he brought with him when they planned to spend at least the weekend together. She laughed as she watched him run, once again leaning back against the counter, taking his coffee cup between her hands and drinking the rest of it's contents.

She really needed to get him to go out running with her, one day, because he really needed to work of his physique. Glancing down at her feet, she figured she might be able to used his love for her yellow shoes to get him to go out with her, next time. That time, it was a day at the park for cheesy couple-y things, and she wouldn't really have it any other way.

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**Based on a prompt on the castlefanficprompts blog on tumblr: a story based on the song 'She's Everything' by Brad Paisley.**

**This story will be a series on related one-shots taking place in the canon universe, each one based on a line of two from the song. There will be one based on every line, and they will be in the same order as the lines are in the song. For copyright reasons, though, I can't post the lyrics in the actual story. If you look them up, though, it should be obvious enough.**

**I hope you enjoyed it.**


	2. cheap sunglasses and anything

_**She's Everything.**_

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_"She looks great in cheap sunglasses. She looks great in anything." -She's Everything, Brad Paisley_

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(October 14th 2012)

He smiled as she came into view, pausing on his walk to join her down at the shore of his private beach. He loved seeing her this weekend, smiling and happy, her entire persona changing the minute they left the city to go to the Hamptons and so unlike the buttoned-up detective he knew and loved. He loved this new side of her just as much, though.

The first time it really came through, a side of her he had never really seen before, was when she surprised him with an offer to go skinny dipping. He remembered clearly the smile on her face, the scrunching of her nose as she giggled softly into the silence of a Hamptons evening. If only that very moment hadn't been interrupted by a dead man stumbling into the pool, he probably would have seen a lot more of light-hearted, laughing Kate Beckett, and then she would have stopped laughing because of his lips on hers and his hands everywhere, the best way to make them both be quiet.

Kickass detective Beckett did make appearances over their weekend away, however, starting with when she started firing theory at chief Brady to prove that she wasn't a prostitute, or when she chastised him for his not-so-subtle interrogation of Natalia Roosevelt. And then there was, after chief Brady gave them permission to help with the case, when she insisted he get the M.E. report rushed, and when she looked over the ballistics report. Working a murder case at the Hamptons P.D., she was detective Beckett, the same detective Beckett he saw in New York almost daily, the leader of her team, the one who needed to get justice.

There were snapshots within their investigation, though, where he'd see new sides of her. There was the handful of times where she'd just sit down and read a book, a blanket resting over her lap, hair pulled up in a messy bun and a small smile across her face. Then there was the time when she sank into a bubble bath, let him sink in behind her for the first time since they got together, rested her head against his shoulder and just relaxed in the warm, sudsy water.

One of his favorites was sitting on the stool he had in his kitchen, watching her walk around like a natural, smiling, her hips swaying slightly to the music she had put on. Her feet had been bare, her red and white sundress flowing with her movements, her hair it's naturally wavy perfection as it drifted over her shoulders. Neither of them had spoken, her content with her cooking, him content with watching her do her thing in his kitchen, letting his mind drift to banned territory of sharing a home with her, a ring adorning both their left ring fingers, the pitter patter of little feet sounding like the music she had been listening to.

Her glass of red wine had been sitting on the counter, and she would take a sip every now and then, turn to him and smile over her shoulder, eyes locking on his, eyes crinkling with joy. It had been the sheer normality of it, of sharing a kitchen, of watching her cook as they both silently sipped their glasses of wine, that had truly gotten to him, though, the beauty of realizing how far they'd come over the years, how far they would go, together. Domesticity looked good on her, felt good with her, was everything he never knew he wanted.

In that moment, though, he was getting to see another side of her, her body visible against the beach's blue sky, visible for prying eyes such as his own. There was a messy bun sitting atop her head, revealing the nape of her neck to him, making a desire to press kisses there erupt within him. The knot holding up her halter-top bikini was also visible, two strings joining at the base of her neck, the red material a sharp contrast against her sunkissed skin. She was holding her arms out, open wide as if expecting a hug, letting the wind hit her front, blow against her face in a way that was fairly cliche, that he would make fun of her for if she didn't look so perfect.

He felt the smile spread across his face as she let her head fall back, eyes most likely closed as they were suddenly aimed at the bright, blue sky and the sun that shone in it. With her still oblivious to his presence, he took another step forward, towards her, and let his gaze fall to continue taking in the length of her mostly-bare body, feeling the peacefulness radiating from her even from so far away.

His eyes traveled down the length of her back, to the shoulder blades that stuck out slightly, revealing the space between them, the curve of her spine where he would always press soft kisses when he woke up to find her asleep on her stomach, or when he would give her a massage, or when she was drained, half asleep in post-coital bliss. His eyes continued to travel lower, down as her waist tapered into the small of her back, as her skin disappeared beneath the red material of her bikini bottom, over the curve of her ass and down her endless legs, memories flashing through his mind like a movie, making him trip over his own two feet.

The grass rustled beneath his feet, along with the material of his black swim trunks as he clumsily stumbled down to the beach, over the space where grass fades to sand. His gasp of surprise as he nearly falls flat on his face was loud, draws her attention to him instantly and he felt like a fool as she laughed at him. He regained his balance after a few seconds, his own bare toes digging into the sand beneath his feet, hands spreading out, freezing their flailing at either side of him, his gaze moving upwards to land on her.

Her face was lit up with her smile, pearly white teeth showing, pink lips curved upwards. Her hands were folded over her abdomen, hiding some of her well-defined abs from his sight, her ribs rising and falling with the remnants of laughter, silent giggles at the clumsiness she'd grown accustomed to. Her own toes dug into the sand, her entire body tilted slightly forward, her entire aura peace and happiness, something he'd never seen despite having known her for over four years.

He couldn't help but let his eyes travel the length of her, up to her face, down to her toes than up again, a moan of appreciation escaping his throat as he took her in. The material of her swimsuit, although dry, was pulled tight against her skin, held in place by strings and golden hoops that left very little to the imagination. Her arms had fallen to her side at that point, revealing her abdomen to him, the abs he loved and respected so much, the lines of her ribs that led his gaze up to her breasts, also encased by red material, hidden from his prying eyes just enough to keep him from ravaging her right there on the beach.

"My eyes are up here, Castle." She laughed, crossing her arms over her chest as if trying to obstruct his view, popping her left hip out to get him to understand that she wanted him to look at her face. He could already picture her raised eyebrows, the teasing glint in her green eyes because she knew how much he loved her, all of her, and how much he adored her body. He also knew that, after all they'd been through, all they'd done in the past few months rendered her unable to deny her appreciation of his affection.

He looked up anyway, his eyes meeting her amused ones, seeing that her brows were in fact raised, her lips still curved upwards and a pair of sunglasses perched on her nose, which he assumed she just bput on since he missed them in his earlier gaze upon her beautiful face. He almost laughed at the fact that she asked him to look at her eyes, and yet they were hidden by tinted plastic the entire time, the smile undoubtedly shining in them hidden from his view.

"So, like what you see?" she asked, chuckling softly at the caught look that instantly spread across his face. "I'm glad." She reaches out to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, knotting her fingers in his hair as she silently waited for him to wrap his arms around her like he always did.

He obliged to her silent demand, pulling her against him and quickly capturing her lips in a kiss, his hand joining behind her back, holding her flush against him. His hands press to the curve of her spine, the dip at the bottom of her back, just above the curve of her bottom. She smiled against his lips, pressing her chest against his bare one for a moment before breaking the kiss altogether, leaning back in his embrace and laughing softly into the silence of the afternoon, the calmness of the beach.

"I take it you do," she said. "Even the sunglasses, huh?" she continued to tease, words drifting from her mouth to his ears, her laughter vibrating in the air like the perfect song, a melody pleasing to all lucky enough to hear it. "I mean, I bought the bikini just for you. I knew you'd like it," he admitted, a blush rising to her cheeks at what she so willingly admitted.

"Mmm… You know I love you in red," he agreed, pulling her just a tad tighter against him, hands slipping even lower to cup her ass through the material of her bikini bottoms. "And in very little, _or no_, clothing," he murmured more than spoke, whispered more than said, his eyes landing on her lips, traveling back up along with his left hand. He brought his fingers to her face, pulled the sunglasses away from her eyes to set them on her head, making her giggle and reach up to fix them with her own hand.

"Mhmm… You aren't exactly subtle about it, Mr. Castle. You never were," he told him, still laughing as if she still wasn't over something funny, but he loved it all the same. He'd never tire of seeing her so content, though, he knew. The smile on her face was contagious, the look he could finally see in her eyes heart warming and so, so beautiful. He decided, in that moment as her laughter rippled the air, the wind and the gentle crash of waves fading as he listened to her and her alone.

"I never tried to by subtle, Beckett. I figured the best way to finally get you to give in was to make it extremely obvious how attracted I was to you, how much I—" She stopped him with another kiss, the hard press of her lips that rendered him unsure whether she was kissing him simply because she wanted to, or to stop him before the confession she still wasn't completely ready to hear again from slipping from his lips. With the entire length of her body pressed against his, a moan of contentment escaping her throat, her lips furious against his, he didn't really care.

When she did pull away, a smile was still spread across her face, eyes gleaming in the bright October sun. Her hands slipped from around his neck, one falling to her side, the other placing the sunglasses back on the bridge of her nose, hiding her teasing gaze from him in a split second, turning so her back is to him and she literally sprinted into the ocean, running until the water was waist deep before turning around.

"Come on, Castle. You promised me a swim _in the ocean_ before we go back to the city," she called, raising her arms up into the air and laughing again, tilting her head back, pushing out her abs and breasts in the process.

"But _Kate, _the water is _cold _this time of year," he whined, even though he was already taking a step towards the water, his heart and mind dead set on keeping her that happy, that content, even if it meant freezing in the cold autumn air and water.

"Oh, come on, you big baby. The water is fine," she called back. "Now, come here. And maybe if you're good we can reschedule our skinny dipping date." She raises her sunglasses just enough to look at him from under the rims of them, mischief shining in her eyes, a promise transferred by the breeze that surrounded them.

He ran into the water so fast he barely had time to feel the cold. She laughed as he pulled her against him again, but once again stopped when he pressed his lips to hers, not intending on pulling away so quickly that time.


	3. a piece of chocolate and a movie

_**She's Everything.**_

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_"She's I want a piece of chocolate, take me to a movie." -She's Everything, Brad Paisley_

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(November 8th 2012)

He cracked an egg on the edge of a small bowl, breaking the shell before allowing the contents of it to fall into the dish below it, the bright, yellow yoke staring up at him, surrounded by white porcelain and clear, uncooked egg. He repeated the process with a second one, smiling as he heard footsteps from behind him, bare feet padding on a hardwood floor, the sound of his girlfriend waking up.

She didn't say a word, so he didn't either, the silence of mornings with her his new favorite time of day, the way she'd sometimes come up behind him and wrap her arms around him, resting her head on his back because, without her stilettos, she was a several inches shorter than him. And she would just relax against him, let him do his thing without saying a word, without interrupting his actions for anything more than a hug, sometimes a soft good morning kiss.

Other times, she would just stand in the kitchen with him and watch him make breakfast—it was like an unspoken agreement that, on the days when she didn't have to show up at the precinct at eight in the morning, he made their breakfast—try and help only to be turned away or banned from the kitchen, a punishment she'd accept with a smile, a teasing glint in her eyes that he never tired of.

Some other times, she'd wake up before him and would be sitting on the couch, either reading a book or watching television or something of the sort, when he finally crawled out of bed. She would look up from whatever she was doing and wish him a good morning, announce that she was just about to start cooking when she heard him wake up, even though they both knew that there was only one time where they didn't have to be at the precinct and she took on the task of making breakfast: after the fiasco with 3XK.

And then there were the mornings he liked most, the ones when she would just walk out of the bedroom, knowing they were alone from having listened to both Martha and Alexis leaving. Some days, she would be wearing simply his shirt, others, nothing at all. Her arms would wrap around his middle, thumbs slipping under the hem of his boxers, lips pressed to the nape of his neck, or sucking on his pulse point in that way she knew he found absolutely intoxicating. And just like she wanted from the moment she woke up on those mornings, he'd turn around in her arms and press his lips to hers, let her pull him back into the bedroom or simply press her against the counter.

He could already tell, though, as he broke the yolks with the prongs his fork, that that day would be one of those days where she would silently try to interrupt or help. He could feel it in the scrutiny of her gaze on his bare back, hear it in her silence, the tap of her fingers against the kitchen island. He simply smiled to himself, eyes focusing on the eggs in the bowl as he beat them with a fork, as the yolks and egg whites mixed together, blending into a pale yellow liquid. He quickly poured them into the already hot pan, watches them begin to cook, their color already beginning to change.

That's when her fingers stopped drumming against the kitchen island, the soft sound of her walking once again sounding through the loft as he watched liquid turn to solid in the pan, a practiced recipe that everyone seemed to hate but him. Kate would tolerate it...sometimes...rarely. Alexis would practically sprint out of the loft the minute she saw the ingredients laid out on the kitchen counter, claiming that she was late for a study date or a class or _something_, just so she could eat something, _anything _else. Mother refused to even go near it, claiming his original dessert simply wasn't _elegant _enough for an _actress _such as herself. He loved them, the mixture of eggs and sweet, sweet marshmallows and chocolate to make what he so happily called his smorelettes.

She stood close behind him, the warmth radiating from her body hitting his bare back, her hand reaching out to travel across the counter, fingers grazing the open bag of mini marshmallows sitting to his right. Silent laughter rumbled in her chest, as if she was silently asking him if he was seriously making smorelettes again, as if she was amused by the fact that he enjoyed them so much when everyone else in his life tried to tell him they were horrible, inedible, or simply tolerable.

But her hand continued to drift, fingers pinching a mini marshmallow, squeezing it into a small, flat disk before tossing it into the pan with a simple twist of her wrist, releasing it add laughing softly as he groaned and flung it out of his eggs with the spatula. She knew as well as him that the marshmallows didn't go in the smorelette until later, so they would just be melted when the eggs finished cooking. The softening marshmallow landed near her hand, and he watched from the corner of his eye as he took it once again, popped it into her mouth with a soft chuckle.

Her hand returned to the counter after she swallowed, trailing across the marble as if she was looking for something specific, as if she was blindly searching for something using simply her sense of touch, her ability to feel. Her fingers traveled over the plastic bag, fingertips tapping various marshmallows as if playing the piano, her touch light, fingers feathering over the bag, over the counter, to the Aero bar sitting next to the marshmallows.

Her reflexes better than his, she managed to pull the chocolate bar off the counter and dart away from him before he could even think of reacting, running to once again stand on the side of the kitchen island opposite him. Just as he turned around, the soft sound of the wrapper being opened sounded through the apartment, making him roll his eyes because she was the one insisting that the biggest problem with smorelettes was that they were unhealthy, and yet she was the one standing in the kitchen eating pure chocolate for breakfast that morning. He found himself loving her a little bit more for it, her laughter silent, but he still knew it was there.

He broke the perfect circle of egg in his pan with the edge of the spatula, breaking his omelette to create makeshift scramble eggs instead, his attention stolen from the breakfast he was cooking by his girlfriend, eating one of his main ingredients. After a couple seconds, he simply turned off the element, his girlfriend too distracting for him to actually cook the eggs without burning them. He turned to face her afterwards, giving up on making any kind of well made, truly presentable breakfast. Besides, he knew Kate well enough to know that she didn't really care all that much, considering the contents her fridge used to hold, before he was pending a lot of time there.

She was smiling at him, wide and teasing and so unlike she usually was, so unlike the way she was at the precinct, or the way she was in their evenings of passionate encounters. Mornings, surprisingly enough, were the time of day when she was happiest, most light-hearted and fun. It was before she was forced to face the brutal murders of New York City, before her mind filled with thoughts of her mother, before she became a sensual, passionate woman that took what she wanted when she wanted it. It was in the mornings that he saw her like this, that he saw her in this layer of the Beckett onion, that she was that part of herself, and allowed him to see it.

He smiled, more to himself than at her, as she broke off a piece of chocolate, the creamy, brown sweetness already beginning to melt between her thumb and forefinger as her eyes locked on his across the counter between them, her smile matched his. He watched as she popped it into her mouth, slipping the small chunk of chocolate between her lips to let it rest on her tongue, allowing the creaminess of it to melt across her tastebuds as she broke a second piece of the rectangular bar off.

"Good morning," she said softly before setting the second piece of chocolate in her mouth, eyes wide and gleaming with happiness, innocence in that teasing way that they often did. She had that same look in her eyes the night before, after she removed the creaver mask and laughed at the nervousness apparently still evident in his darting eyes, before she distracted him with the sinfully short dress and her perfect legs and luscious lips and—

"Good morning," he replied before his thoughts got out of hand, shaking her head slightly as he cleared it of the images of the night before, of the Nebula 9 cosplay that was far better than the show had ever been—even Kate admitted that one. He shook his head again, images that were nothing but fantasies a few days before returning, distracting him more than anything else ever had, ever could. His mind somewhat cleared, he watched as she broke off a third piece of chocolate. "What about 'breakfasts need to be healthy, Castle. Smorelettes aren't healthy'?" he asked.

She shrugged, "I felt like chocolate," and chuckled as popped the third piece of creamy sweetness into her mouth, smiling at him around the small rectangular chunk. She was already breaking off the fourth piece of chocolate as she shifted the third within her mouth with her tongue, poking the inside of her cheek with it, allowing it to melt in the warm cavern of her mouth, evidently enjoying the way it coated her tongue before she swallowed, almost immediately placing the fourth on her tongue and then breaking off the fifth.

That time, instead of waiting to swallow and eating the newly broken off piece of chocolate herself, she reached across the kitchen island and let him take it from the palm of her hand, smiled as he dropped it on his tongue, smiling at her as widely as she was smiling at him. He found himself leaning against the counter, resting on his forearms as they both ate their chocolate, her fingers, unlike every other time, are still. They rest of the Aero remained clutched in one hand, but she was longer breaking off pieces to eat them after she swallowed. She simply chewed, then swallows, and didn't eat another piece.

"I was thinking, this morning while you were cooking and I was laying in bed," she announced after a short while, leaning against the island as well, resting her chin in the elbow of her free hand as he nodded. "I think we should go out on a date. Like, a real date, not dinner in my apartment or anything, you know?" she continued, her suggestion hanging in the air between them as his brow furrowed and her lips pursed in curious anticipation, in quiet nervousness for his reply.

"A real date? Kate, you know I'd love to take you out, but you want to keep this quiet, and the paparazzi might catch us. That's not a chance I'm willing to take," he told her. "Restaurants, they have windows and people see things. I can't even tell you how many times I've been caught...unintentionally. I don't want that to happen to us," he explained further, reaching out with his one hand to take hers, silently begging her to understand that he really did want to go out with her, but he also wanted to respect her wishes of keeping their relationship a secret for as long as possible.

"Yeah, I know. That's why I was thinking," she said with a smile, squeezing his hand gently, reassuringly. "And I was thinking about the case we just wrapped and how I said I would be the first in line to see any Nebula 9 movie they might decide to eventually make. And I thought that a movie would be the perfect date for us. It's dark, so no one would recognize us, right? I mean, I know it's not the best first date and it sounds kind of juvenile, but I still want us to go on a date, Castle, and that's the best I could come up with." She smiled at him hopefully, squeezing his hand once again as if asking him to agree.

"A movie?" She nodded. "Sounds perfect to me," he agreed with a smile, leaning over the island even more, pulling her hand to his lips to press a soft, chivalrous kiss there despite the fact that they'd already been together for months without actually having gone on a true date—they had planned one, when they were in the Hamptons, but her in a tiny, black dress and the frustration of having their weekend interrupted combined, and they didn't get out the front door before they decided to stay in and enjoy each other.

"I'm off this weekend. I mean, I don't know if anything good is playing but I don't really care. I think, since it'll be our first date, I'll be a little _distracted_ anyway." She grinned, pulling her lower lip between her teeth in a way that told him exactly how she'd be distracted, what would be distracting her. He had to agree, he would be equally distracted, knowing that they were out on a date, like normal couples, and that there was no way they would be parting that evening with simply a goodbye kiss outside her door.

He nodded, leaning over to break three pieces of chocolate off the bar, the one that was alone in it's row along with the two in the row below it. She grinned, pulling the bar out of his reach with a chuckle, taking a bite from the next row of the tasty chocolate bar, as if claiming it for herself, as if he'd actually care, as if they hadn't already shaken hands and swapped spit too much for him to be disgusted by sharing a chocolate bar with her.

"You know, I always thought _I'd _ask _you _out for our first date," he said, watching as she chewed then swallowed, taking a bite of his own, rather small piece of chocolate.

"Yeah, well, you know how impatient I can be. You were just being too slow, Castle. Figured I had to make the first move."

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**I know Beckett may seem a little OOC in this story. This is simply how I honestly imagine their relationship being at this point. Though throughout season 5, we did see moments when she seemed insecure about her relationship with Castle (for example: 'Cloudy with a Chance or Murder', 'After Hours', 'Secret Santa', 'Significant Others', 'The Squab and the Quail') I do believe that she was comfortable with him, in aspects and moments like the ones I portray in these one-shots. There's always been a teasing side of their relationship, and it's shown at the end of 'The Final Frontier' that it remained even in the early stages of their relationship, when she tricks him with the Lieutenant Chloe/Creaver costume.**

**Anyway, that's just my opinion and the reasoning behind this light-hearted, laughing and teasing version of Beckett that I write about in these stories. **


	4. can't find a thing to wear and moody

_**She's Everything.**_

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_"She's I can't find a thing to wear. And now and then she's moody." -She's Everything, Brad Paisley_

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(November 13th 2012)

He walked into the bedroom, towel wrapped around his waist, hanging low on his hips, his body still relaxed from his shower. He could tell just from looking at her, though, that she was anything but relaxed. Her shoulders were tense, arms crossed over her chest almost defensively as she stood at the entrance to his—their, really, she had enough clothes there at that point, already, to get ready for work daily—walk-in closet. Even from the angle he had of her—not quite profile, but not from her back, either—he could see the way her jaw was clenched, her lower lip pulled between her teeth.

It was no secret what had her so stressed out, what had her shoulders tense and the nerves radiating off her, filling the bedroom air. She had made it plainly obvious the day before, hiding her face from the cameras, shying away from them, refusing to let them have any insight on what she looked like when she was doing her thing. He hated it, seeing her like that, seeing her back down at the _precinct_, knowing how she usually rocked the interrogation room, or took control of her team with a simple glance, all skills he admired greatly, and she was refusing to let the camera see.

He had already known that Kate was a very private person, from years of trying to get to know her, trying to peel layers of the Beckett onion. He knew that she didn't let people in easily, hid her personal life from them because it _scared _her when people had the power to hurt her, to bring up bad memories, to find her weak spot through what they knew about her. He understood that, was eternally grateful to be one of the few people allowed to see some of her most vulnerable points.

Understanding her fear, shyness and insecurity around the cameras that had invaded the precinct was a different story. Because detective Kate Beckett didn't show her vulnerable side, didn't let people see her pain, no matter what. Even when she was stuck without a lead, or when the case hit too close to home, she never let people see her upset at the precinct, always more frustrated than anything. So he knew from the moment she strategically but obviously held her coffee cup up to hide her face, that her hiding from the cameras was about something different, something she still hadn't told him about.

He had asked the night before, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her against him, holding her to him in a tight hug. She had accepted his hug, returned it, wrapping her own arms around his waist, pressing her forehead to the side of his neck. Her response to his question had been a simple shrug, her eyelashes fluttering against his skin, her body tensing beneath his palms so slightly he barely caught it, but he knew, in that moment, that it was something beyond the fears she had already expressed to him.

That morning, though, as he watched her stare into the closet as if she was a teenager choosing an outfit for her first date with the boy she had liked for, like, ever, instead of the beautiful, confident woman she was simply choosing an outfit for work, like she did on an almost daily basis, he decided he would get himself an answer. Because, really, seeing Kate Beckett so thoughtful over an outfit, as if her usual pants suit, or turtleneck and jeans wasn't enough,truly raised a red flag.

She jumped, startled, when his hand landed on her bare shoulder, palm covering the thin strap of her plum purple bra until she turned to face him, lip still pulled between her teeth. If it wasn't for the look in her eyes, it would have completely distracted him from the task at hand, the need for an answer, the desire to uncover, understand another layer of the Beckett onion, another side of his beautiful girlfriend. The worry and insecurity that filled her eyes, though, was enough to keep him inline and his thoughts clean, made his heart swell with a desire to comfort her, a love for her that only came so strongly when he saw those vulnerable sides of her.

"So, Beckett, care to explain why you've been staring at the closet for the past twenty minutes?" he asked, keeping his voice soft despite the teasing meaning of his words, true worry for her overpowering his usual desire to tease her with half the words that came out of his mouth.

She rolled her eyes, as if on instinct, scoffing at his words, but not looking back at him. "I was not. You were in the shower. You have no idea how long I've been here," she told him, her inability to look him in the eyes as she spoke saying more than her words. She once again crossed her arms over her chest, his hand traveling over her shoulder and down her arm before falling at his side.

"Well, I do know that you were out of bed when I went to take my shower—" he grinned, making her roll her eyes again "—and that once you're out of bed, you don't go _back _to bed. And there's no coffee in here, so you didn't go make yourself one," he pointed it all out, showed her how well he knew her once again, no physical contact needed, simply his words and her insecurities to get him rambling about her morning routine, and how standing in front of a closet for twenty minutes wasn't usually part of it.

She looked away, again, into the closet, her eyes scanning his suits that took up three quarters of the space, her own clothes that took up the last quarter, her stilettos spread across the floor. Six months, he thought silently. It had been six months since they got together, and it was already evident, to him, that she was part of his family, part of his home. She took up a quarter of his closet space, clothes accumulated there over the months—she would forget something, every now and then, and he would simply wash it and hang it up in his closet for her, instead of giving it back, for her to take home—and had a toothbrush, a hair brush, makeup and hair products in the ensuite bathroom. He smiled to himself at that thought, like he always did when it hit him, because he loved having her there, loved knowing she was such a big part of his life, no longer just at work, but at home, too.

"Fine," she relented softly, breaking him from his thoughts with the single syllable as it echoed through the silence of the empty bedroom. Her tone of voice raised slightly as she continued speaking: "I just- I don't know what to wear, Castle. What do you wear when a camera is following your every move?" She sounded annoyed, exasperated, as she spoke, waving her hands slightly before letting her arms fall limply at her sides, fingers curling into fists as her shoulders remained tense.

"What you usually do, Beckett. They're just there to watch you do your job, being the awesome, kickass detective you are." She looked up at him again, her lower lip still tugged between her teeth, but a small smile spread across her face. "So you should just wear what you always wear, and pretend they're not there, because they don't matter, Kate. Finding justice is the only thing that matters, as always."

"Then why does it feel like they matter?" she asked with a huff, her hands pressing against the outer sides of her thighs as her eyes clouded over with what he could only describe as anger, anger towards the situation Gates forced her into, anger at the fact that she had cameramen following her every move, like he always knew she would hate.

"Because they're invading your space," he answered, reaching out to wrap his fingers around her wrist, where he rubbed a small circle to get her to open her hand, unclench her fist. Once she did, he twined his fingers through hers, ran his thumb along hers. "Their invading your _home_, Kate. That precinct, it's where you spend most of your time, it's _your _space, and they just barged into it."

Her eyes widened slightly at his words, as he continued to reveal how well he knew her, how well he could read her every move, see into her insecurities, soothe her worries without her ever having to ask him to. Her hand squeezed his ever so gently, fingernails digging into his skin slightly, her nod so slight he barely saw it, but he did. He always did, and he smiled at her almost sadly, feeling her pain, understanding where she was coming from. In a way, he could empathize with her, was able to compare her...hesitance to let people, like the cameramen, into her life to the way he had once had to keep Alexis out of the spotlight, keeping paparazzis from invading his little girl's life.

"But, Kate? They'll come, you'll solve this case and then they'll leave, and it will still be your home, your precinct, and you will still be standing tall and proud and marching down those hallways, all authoritative and—" his eyes scan the length of her mostly bare body "—sexy," he said, tugging her hand gently, watching the smile bloom across her face as she came into his embrace willingly.

His hand released hers, slipped around her waist, caressed the skin of her lower back as she pressed her cheek against his bare chest. His other hand also slipped around her waist, held her against him, comforted the final remaining nerves, feeling the tense muscles of her back relax beneath his palms, her warm breath tickle his chest as her fingers curled into his back, just above the towel that remained tied around his waist.

He felt her smile against him, her hair brushing his chest as she looked up at him, a silent thank you exchange as he looked down to lock his eyes on hers, to smile back at her, tightened his grip around her, held her as tightly as possible against him, as the while keeping his eyes on hers, his smile mirroring hers. She pushed herself onto the tips of her toes—he loved their height difference when they were both barefooted, although still small enough, just large enough for her to have to stand on her tiptoes, for him to have to lean down, for her to fit right under his chin when he held her close—to press her lips to his, soft and sweet and thankful and full of love. Her kiss held words her had yet to say, promises they had yet to make, and he reveled in it, returned it.

When she pulled away, she was still smiling, arms slipping from around him as she walked into the walk-in closet, pulling a light blue button down, a charcoal grey jacket and a pair of black slacks from their hangers, draping the articles over her arm as she headed for the bathroom. He smiled as he watched her go, once again marvelling in how natural it was for her to be there, even when their days didn't have the best start to them, even when it was simply to hold her, comfort her, give her a kiss good morning, he loved it, he cherished it. He loved her. He was still smiling to himself when he walked into the closet himself, choosing an outfit of his own.

She still wasn't comfortable in front of the camera that day, still tried to hide, was still hesitant to let them see her do her thing, but she was better. She snapped at them at the beginning of the day, but with his encouragement, managed to walk into that interrogation room and take control of her home, despite the cameras, despite the invasion.

Well, in one of her homes, he had later decided, clinking his glass against hers, seeing how comfortable she was in his home, realizing that the loft was slowly becoming their home. He loved it. He loved her.

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**I know it's not the best portrayal of Kate being moody, but I hope you guys don't mind too much.**


End file.
